Ashes
by PrinRue
Summary: Stoick's Ship told entirely through Hiccup's eyes; sadness, inner thoughts, feelings, and hope.


**I know, I know, I have stories that I actually have on my profile that I should be working on, but this one snuck into my brain and I just couldn't ignore an opportunity to deepen an already super emotional and character developing scene such as Stoick's Ship. This version is told from Hiccup's POV; sadness, thoughts, and feels ensue!**

**Enjoy!**

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The fire has long turned from flames to embers, but we all still have yet to use it. Nine arrows stick out from a log, with nine rune-inscribed bows resting on the ground beside them. Yet we all still have yet to pick one up. Finally, I hear heavy footsteps on the beach behind me, and recognize the sound to be of my former mentor before he even begins speaking.

"May the Valkyries welcome you, and lead you through Odin's great battlefield…" the man steps up beside me, and I turn my head just enough to see the bow being offered to my hand. Though I don't want to, I reach out and take it, running my thumb over the handle as it sets in my grasp.

The bow itself is not heavy, but it may as well weigh a ton. As I look down at the weapon, with all its faint cracks and hand-carved unevenness, it feels as if my whole body is weighed down. I take a deep breath, willing myself not to let the emotions festering inside escape, and trying to force my legs to move. Yet they might as well be made of lead.

A hand, heavy yet gentle, sets itself on my shoulder for a moment. I know it's Gobber's without even having to look; because the only other person whose hand it could be is no longer here. Then, the man steps away and continues his speech.

"May they sing your name with love and fury, so that we may hear it rise from the depths of Valhalla, and know that you've taken your rightful place at the Table of Kings..."

It's the traditional eulogy given to a Viking fallen in battle. I've heard it several times in my life, and even partook in the ceremony a couple of those times. But tonight, the words feel different, like they've been laced with an insurmountable grief that's settled heavy on each of us. Finally, the tears that have built so heavily in my eyes break, and I feel several sliding down my face.

I can't remember the last time I was brought to tears. Even with as "un-Vikingly" as I've always been, that's one thing that we had in common. My emotions have always stayed within me, even in the worst of times. But now, listening to the grief-stricken words of my father's final sendoff, I feel on the brink of losing it all.

"For a great man has fallen. A warrior. A chieftain. A father. A friend." I can hear the tears in Gobber's voice as he says the final word, and the soft sniffling of my friends signals that no eyes have been left dry. I glance up at the ocean, where the ship that serves as my father's final resting place is slowly drifting away. A thought crosses my mind, of my father waking up, a defiant smile on his lips, teasing us for even thinking he could be gone. He's survived dragon fire before; I had thought it was hard then, seeing him unconscious and fevered, but he pulled through. I thought this time would be the same.

But alas, even the strongest people out there are still human. We're not invincible; I should know that by now.

Yet as I dip the tip of my arrow into the embers, setting the coal-encased point ablaze, it still feels like a bad dream. Of all the people we could have lost, my father should have been the last of them. That blast wasn't even meant for him; it was meant for _me. _But he took it in my place, without even thinking.

And I don't know how I can ever forgive myself for a sacrifice like that.

I take in a shaky breath, before pulling back my bowstring and aiming the point toward Valhalla. With trembling fingers, the cord is released, and I watch through blurry vision as the arrow sails to its target. The wood it hits instantly catches, and as soon as the first wisps of smoke begin rising from the ship, eight other arrows follow mine.

The ship's interior is dry, and the fire spreads quickly, swallowing the pyre within seconds, for it has no way of knowing that it's overtaking someone important, someone precious.

I want to say something, something deep and meaningful and profound and _chiefly, _but my brain won't cooperate with my emotions. So all I manage to get out is, "I'm sorry, Dad." I can hear the others crying behind me, but I can't take my eyes off the burning ship. Because it's as if as long as I can see him, then he's not really gone, but as soon as I look away, it'll be over. "I'm not the chief that you wanted me to be. And I'm not the peacekeeper I thought I was. I don't know…" I trail off, because if I say anything more, then I really will lose it all. Letting out a heartbroken sigh, I look down, not even bothering to wipe at the tears streaming from my eyes.

Just earlier today, I thought I could change things. I thought if I just showed Drago the bond of humans and dragons, he would give it a chance. I thought that was what I was good at, what I was meant to do in this world. But now, I see how naive of an idea that truly is.

Peace is a fickle thing, because some people are just so hardened in their ways that they can't even give it a chance. I thought I could change anyone's mind; after all, Stoick the Vast was about as hardened as they come, and I was the one who helped him to see the truth. But I guess no matter how good my intentions are, and how much I believe in my ability, there are some minds that just won't be changed.

That's what my father said. And oh, how I wish I had listened to him. If I had, maybe he'd still be here.

The feeling of fingers running through my hair breaks me out of my thoughts. To my surprise, the owner of the hand isn't Astrid; it's my mother.

"You came early into this world. You were such a wee thing, so frail, so fragile. I feared you wouldn't make it." She comes around to the front of me, setting a hand on my shoulder.

I suppose her words shouldn't surprise me; they're implied in my very name, after all. Yet I still can't help but feel a bit taken aback, hearing my own mother say it.

"But your father…" she continues. "He never doubted. He always said you'd become the strongest of them all, and he was right. You have the heart of a chief and the soul of a dragon. Only _you _can bring our worlds together." I glance up at her, at the sincerity in her eyes and the encouraging smile on her lips. "That is who you are, son."

I want to believe her words, but I'm having a hard time seeing myself as "strong" after all of this. In truth, I've never felt weaker. Earlier today, I thought everything was finally becoming what I'd always imagined: my family whole, the world turning toward peace, humans and dragons working in perfect harmony. But now, I see just how naïve I truly am.

A perfect world doesn't truly exist; there will always be evil out there, people fighting for the wrong reasons. And now, I have to face it on my own, and somehow lead an entire island of people while I'm at it. I feel lost, completely and utterly clueless on what to do.

My dad would know what to do.

I look back out to the ship, now a raging inferno so bright the sea stacks appear as mere silhouettes. What would he think of me, as confused and uncertain as I am right now?

_He'd still be proud of you, _a small voice whispers in my mind, and I struggle to heed it. Then, my voice sounds before I even realize I've begun talking.

"I was… so afraid of become my dad. Mostly because I thought I never could. H-how, how do you become someone that great, that brave, that… selfless?" Another tear escapes me, but it doesn't bother me this time. "I guess… you can only try."

And my dad would want me to try, even when it seems impossible. The odds are stacked against me, I won't lie, but then again, when it comes to me, they always seem to be. I narrow my eyes at my father's final resting place; I have to try, if not for myself, then for him. It's the right thing to do, and it's who I have to become. For my father, and for my mother, and for my dragon, and… for my people.

The fire has begun to go out, sizzling into the seawater and leaving not a trace behind. The person Stoick the Vast was is now nothing but ashes, as is the vessel he departed on. But even as I watch it reduce to ash, I know it's not the end. I have a job to do. It may not be the job I wanted, or the job I thought I was meant for, but it's mine nonetheless, and I will do it the best I can.

I take in one more deep breath, before turning to face my friends. I'm their leader now, and as their leader, it's my job to keep them safe. My father's words come back to me, and now, I hear them with new clarity.

"A chief protects his own," I say, looking over each of the people who now rely on _me_ for guidance. I don't know how we'll get there, or even if we'll succeed, but we can't stay here. Toothless needs me, and I need him. And I know the others will follow me, because they need their dragons too. This is what my father would have wanted, not for us to sit here and let our grief ground us, but to go out and avenge those we love. And I fully intend on honoring his memory for as long as I live.

"We're going back."

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**Hope you all enjoyed the internal thoughts of our favorite Dragon Rider! I went for more of a free-verse poetry style of description, with a lot more intricate detail, but of course still being in a story format. Hope you liked it! **

**Till next story!**


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